


Shivering Without You

by sunniskies



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic, cotton candy level really, fair warning, harry melting zayn's heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunniskies/pseuds/sunniskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's definitely not fussing over his feverish boyfriend like he's dying. No way he's turned into a total softie like that. </p><p>Blame Harry Styles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shivering Without You

 

It’s a stormy Wednesday in February and Zayn’s been painting like crazy all week. He's working furiously to finish a piece by the weekend, because his manager at the gallery where he works had seen some initial sketches of the work and loved it, and wants to put it on display the next week. This what Zayn has been waiting for after half a year of answering phones and sorting mail, the chance for one of his paintings to hang in a proper gallery somewhere. Harry had picked him up in a gigantic hug and spun him around when Zayn appeared, breathless and grinning from ear to ear, at the bakery where Harry spends his days covered in dough. “That’s amazing, Z,” Harry had murmured in Zayn’s ear and Zayn held him tight as he kissed the flour out of Harry’s curls, breathing in his current smell of nutmeg, thanking him for being there every step of the way. They celebrated by eating the morning’s leftover blueberry scones, Harry trying to get Zayn to take more back to work with him ( _You’re too skinny_ , he always whines).

Zayn grins when he sees his phone lighting up with “Hazza” as he’s considering the canvas in the middle of his studio early in the morning, trying to decide what shade of red to add. He hasn’t actually spoken to Harry for almost two days, which is practically a lifetime for them. Harry had been insistent about giving Zayn space to finish this painting, knowing how important it was.

“Hey babe,” Zayn answers easily, after wiping his hands on his paint splattered jeans, already smiling. “I’ve missed you.” He hates that he hasn’t been able to sleep at Harry’s for at least a week while he’s been working on this piece. Zayn spends his nights at Harry’s place most of the time, although he never stops teasing Harry about the way everything in the flat smells of vanilla because of the candles he keeps all over the place. And if Zayn is secretly missing that smell after a week at his own very candleless flat, he doesn’t mention that out loud. 

“Hey Zayn” Harry says in that ridiculously deep tone of his, drawing out the words. “How’s it coming?”

Zayn can’t tell if it’s because they haven’t spoken for a while, but he frowns a bit, something seeming off about Harry’s voice. "It’s going brillant, actually, only maybe a day’s more work I’d say. How’re you?” 

“Ah, that’s wonderful! ’m fine...yeah, erm, did have a quick favor though,” Harry says slowly. “D’you think you could drive me to the market? I hate to interrupt your work and everything I’m so sorry to bother, it’ll only take a minute, really,” he rambles.

“Of course babe--but is something wrong with your car?” Zayn frowns harder now. 

“No, erm, it’s just I--well I’ve been a bit dizzy and don’t really feel like I can drive right now,” Harry says cagily.

“You’re dizzy? What’s wrong? You alright?” Zayn asks, running a hand through his hair with concern.

“Uh yeah ’m fine, I guess’ve been a bit sick? So yeah I just need some food ‘cause I don’t have anything but don’t feel like I can drive so…” Harry trails off, pitifully.

Zayn’s heart squeezes. “Oh babe. You’re ill? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, but his voice becoming gentle.

“Didn’t want to bother you,” Harry mumbles.

“Haz, I wish you’d told me, coming over there right now. Just get in bed for me babe, yeah?” Zayn sighs.

“‘Mkay. Sorry.”

“Don’t say that. Love you”

“Love you,” Harry hangs up.

Zayn barely screws the caps on his paint bottles before he’s hurrying downstairs to his car. He always gets sort of irrationally worried when Harry comes down sick. The thing is, Zayn’s always had this special protectiveness over Harry. It’s mostly out of necessity, really, the guy is all limbs and awkward feet for all his charm, and has a tendency to hurt himself if not closely watched. But it’s also more than that--Harry brings out a side of Zayn that he didn’t know was there before, a part of him that wants to lay on the bed for hours doing nothing but running his fingers through Harry’s curls, a part of him that wants to wake up and whisper “I love you’s” to the half-asleep boy next to him in the morning.

Zayn had thought that he had been in love before but now he’s not sure, the way that Harry has managed to overtake every aspect of his life and just _gets_ him is a feeling that he’s never encountered before. At first it felt like he was crashing down a flight of stairs head first and he tried to pull away, but somehow Harry understood that too, and gave him the space he needed until Zayn turned up at Harry’s flat one night with red eyes, admitting that Harry’s all he’s ever wanted. And ever since then it has still been overwhelming but also so perfectly simple, just the two of them in love.

Unfortunately Harry seems to have penchant for catching the worst bugs when the winter comes around, Zayn remembers how Harry was knocked out with a flu for nearly two weeks last December. Harry, being himself really, is quite terrible at taking care of himself when he’s sick, and Zayn wonders if Harry would even be able to make tea if Zayn weren’t there. He runs his hand distractedly through his hair again as he grips the wheel with one hand. What he hates is not knowing how long Harry’s been sick or how bad it is. He feels like shit for making Harry think that he couldn’t bother him, like some painting was more important than him. Zayn unconsciously presses the gas a little harder, and ends up making it to Harry’s flat in record time.

Zayn shimmies the door to Harry’s flat open with the key he’s had for ages, calling “Haz?” softly as he steps inside to the familiar smell and cozy decor. It only takes a second for him to find Harry, as a pathetic cough comes from the direction of the couch. Harry is curled up on the cream colored cushions, fumbling around to attempt to sit up at the sound of Zayn’s voice. Zayn strides over to the couch and crouches down in front of Harry, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him lying down.

“Oh, babe,” Zayn hums, his eyebrows pushed together in concern as he takes in Harry. The boy’s normally sunny face has a paper-white pallor to it, except for his cheeks which are spotted with a red flush. Harry’s usually sparkling green eyes are glassy and unfocused as he gazes at up at Zayn and he’s got his arms wrapped around his chest as he shivers slightly against the couch. 

“Oh _Harry_ ,” Zayn repeats, his voice laced with a degree of tenderness that surprises even him, and presses his lips to Harry’s overheated forehead. Harry makes a contented noise at the cool touch and Zayn gently pushes a sweaty curl out his eyes. “I wish I’d known you were sick.”

“Your art is important,” Harry mumbles, his voice raspy.

“Not more important than you, ever. You know that right?” Zayn murmurs, still stroking his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I need you to know that.”

Harry just dazedly smiles up at him, those dimples finally appearing, and Zayn is amazed that Harry can still look stunningly beautiful with a fever. “I know that,” he answers, and Zayn presses another kiss to his temple.

“Alright babe, I need to get you in your proper bed, k?” Zayn says, and he slips an arm under Harry’s shoulders to help him sit up. Zayn makes sure he stands up gently, and Harry sways a tiny bit but Zayn’s got his hand firmly clasped on Harry’s waist to steady him. They make it up to Harry’s bedroom slowly, and Zayn tucks Harry in under his comforter and another blanket he grabs from the closet, happy to see Harry finally stop shaking with chills. He climbs into bed next to Harry and leans over him, tracing the dark circles under Harry’s eyes with a thumb, wondering if he’s gotten any proper sleep at all in the last few days. Zayn presses a hand to Harry’s forehead and cheeks, testing the temperature there, humming with disapproval with he feels how hot Harry is. Those green eyes are already slipping shut, and Zayn is torn between wanting to get some food and medicine into Harry, and just letting him get some much needed uninterrupted rest. 

In the end, Harry looks so peaceful under the blankets, his lashes casting shadows on his pink cheeks, that Zayn doesn’t have the heart to wake him just yet. Instead Zayn lays down and slides his body up against Harry’s back, and pulls the sleeping boy to his chest. He’s got Harry’s head resting on one arm and the other is draped around Harry’s waist, where he absentmindedly draws little circles on the skin showing between Harry’s tshirt and boxers with a finger. As he lays there, the faint scent of Harry’s shampoo filling his daydreams, Zayn realizes that there a lot of things he wants in life, but there’s absolutely nothing he wants more than to spend forever with Harry in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!! Shout out to [StormDancer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDancer) for helping me edit. 
> 
> Comments/kudos always welcomed :) xx. 
> 
> My tumblr [foreverhazboo](http://www.foreverhazboo.tumblr.com)


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